


65 - Magic

by TerraCorrupt



Series: 100 List [3]
Category: Almost Human, Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 10:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13702296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerraCorrupt/pseuds/TerraCorrupt
Summary: Crossover fic with Supernatural and Almost Human. John and Dorian, Dean's teenage sons, are eager to carry on the family business and prove themselves as hunters. When a group of witches crop up in a town only a few hour's drive from home, John and Dorian get their chance, because Dad and Uncle Sam won't be back for a few days and the next person is about to be killed by the coven. Getting rid of witches should be easy for a pair who have their experienced relatives as teachers, right? And they can be back before school on Monday, with Dad and Uncle Sam none the wiser.





	65 - Magic

            “D! Hey, D!” A dark-haired youth called from across the study as he walked across holding a small laptop in one hand and newspapers in the other. He’d been hard at work avoiding the chores he’d been assigned earlier in the day by his Dad in exchange for being allowed to use his car that hardly ever went out of the garage now. It spent most of its time under a canvas cover being washed every other week, and driven an hour or two a month. “D, I got us a job!” John ran to his brother and quickly dropped the open computer on Dorian’s lap while several newspapers went onto the pile of books on the table.

            The other boy looked up at his name being called now. He smiled warmly at the other and sat back, though he didn’t close the book he’d been studying impatiently. Their Uncle, who was in charge of their education, assigned homework. _Who does that? Seriously, Uncle Sam? Dad said ya’ll didn’t get homework like this…_ But the arrival of his brother was a welcome distraction. “I don’t think we can go anywhere, John. Not without telling Dad and Uncle Sam where we’re going. They’ll know if we just leave, even if we don’t take one of our cars.”

            “Yeah, but we can’t just let people get killed. It looks like witches in this town. Someone’s killin people, and it’s up to us to stop ‘em.” John looked plaintively at his brother. They had to go protect people, it’d been drilled into them by their dad, because it was their family business. He was most of the muscle while Dorian did the research and was back-up. Occasionally the shape-shifter needed to use those powers, but not on every job they used for training. “I think we can graduate to witches. We take out ghosts like nobody’s business… And Dad’s on a hunting trip, and he won’t be back for a few days.”

            Dorian finally nodded his assent for the work being offered. Their Dad wasn’t home, nor was their Uncle. “Okay, we’ll go. I’ve been wanting to get out into the world again anyhow.” The young man stood up from the chair he was in and followed his brother to the armory. “Uncle Sam and I made a few dozen witch killer rounds. So, let’s take those.” He was speaking the obvious again, but it didn’t matter. They were skilled hunters in their own right, even if their Dad didn’t want to acknowledge it. “Which car are we taking?”

            John went through the guns that were on the wall, picking a few handguns, and two boxes of witch-killing bullets. He’d learned to be prepared, just like they were taught. “The Charger. It’s gassed up and cleaned.” It was John’s favorite car anyhow. He loved the rumble of the engine and the leather seats were nice to slide across, even if he was a little blood-soaked. “And we’re not going far. It’s just across the state line in Hastings, Nebraska. We should be back before they are. They went all the way down to Tennessee.”

 

***

            “We need to talk, Dean. Actual talk. Uncle to Father.” Sam said while he reached out to turn down the volume of the radio in their car. He missed driving the Impala, but in 2025, it was getting harder and harder to find parts for the ones that were going out. Finally, Sam had been able to convince his older brother to shutter up the muscle car in favor of something they could find parts for. “I’m worried about the boys.”

            “What? Worried about the boys?” Dean snorted his derision about the comment. His sons were growing up into fine young men and hunters. They were learning at least as much as he did via bookwork, rather than trial and error in the middle of a hunt when things went totally to shit, and were both well-versed in how to research what they needed to find about the monsters they were hunting. Not to mention that their reputation, which Sam oversaw, was going to be like their own. The Winchester family name carried weight. “Come on, Sam. It’s not like they’re just going to pick up a case and run it to ground.” They had strict rules in place for letting the boys go out hunting. One of them had to be along for the ride, and it could only happen on weekends and school breaks.

            “That’s just it. They’re itching more and more to go out and hunt. Especially John.” Sam knew Dean was getting up there in years for a hunter, as was he, but they were both still in top shape for their profession. And he’d heard the rumblings of Dean’s blood-son when the boys didn’t think they were being overheard. “You remember how we were at that age? Remember how often we bucked Dad because we wanted to prove ourselves? He’s so much like you, Dean. He’ll just run headlong into danger, and he discounts how smart and resourceful he is.” He knew his words were falling on deaf ears. The Winchester sons were raised with strict military discipline and taught to obey first when the orders came from their patriarch. But each of them had a rebellious streak and were fiercely loyal to their family unit to the exclusion of everyone around them.

            Dean sighed. Of course, he knew his brother was right. Not that he would ever admit it aloud. He’d already seen the signs of a pair of hunters wanting to strike out on their own. But they were too young. Too young, and with Dorian only being so recently out of puberty, he couldn’t be sure the shifter-boy wouldn’t get out of hand despite the control he had learned. At least, they’d been able to keep his adopted son’s nature out of the view of other hunters. No one knew about Dorian, and all accepted him as a member of the Winchester Clan, despite him not appearing to be one. “We’ll talk about it with them when we get home. They’re supposed to be studying for their finals next week.”

            “Supposed to be.” Sam laughed while settling back into the plush leather seat. It warmed up and gave him a happy feeling inside. _Getting old there, Sammy._ “It probably wouldn’t hurt to let them take one set of training wheels off, Dean.” He shook his head as the car suddenly accelerated. It was an indication of the mood his brother was now in at a thought that there might be some deficiency in how he raised his boys. But this was relatively new territory. They had more experience as hunters to compliment the fatherhood experience Dean had, since he’d practically raised Sam. _They’re not going to die their first time out, Dean. They’re better than that._

***

            “Okay, so I’ve been able to turn up some information on the people that were killed, John.” Dorian looked up at his brother when the other got into the dark blue car. They had been driving for a couple hours and the human needed to make a pitstop. That little break gave Dorian enough time to compile the work he’d done. “There’ve been six victims so far, each on a new moon. Someone’s working some serious magic here.” Dorian shifted in the seat and scrolled through the pages he’d managed to save on his tablet.

            “New moon magic, huh? Didn’t Dad say something about a coven of witches he and Uncle Sam had to take out?” John turned the key in the ignition and almost peeled out of the roadside gas station they’d stopped at for him. The green-eyed man glanced at his brother, thinking back through his memories for the information that might be useful to them. There hadn’t really been that many instances of witches that they’d been told about, and they hadn’t gone after witches before. Only ghosts and demons. Dorian excelled at sigils and exorcisms, so John was the muscle, much like their Dad.

            “Yeah, but that wasn’t New Moon magic. The New Moon is supposed to hold a lot of spiritual power. That way it’s got the extra ‘oomph’ witches want to get their spells done. Since it’s only been one guy every month, the cops didn’t put it together. But some tabloid did.” Dorian laughed lightly about how useless the major media had been, just like their Dad and Uncle had said. “The rag’s calling it “The Anti-werewolf murders”, because “Ritual magic” isn’t sexy enough. And it’s more fun to talk about the werewolves likes they mean something to them.”

            They probably should have asked for some help, but they didn’t. And it was going to be what it was going to be. They could always call their Uncle if something went really wrong. He wouldn’t be mad at them the way their Dad would be. John sighed lightly and raised a hand to his head to rake through the short hair. They needed to get there faster to prevent any more murders from happening. There was less than a week left until the next new moon. The duo had their work cut out for them.

***

            Arriving in Hastings in the early afternoon, the pair needed to find a hotel to stay in. They agreed they could probably wrap the situation up within a week so that no one else needed to die. They drove around scoping out the town, noting that it was a good-sized town, and the people were nice. With the mild weather it wasn’t a big deal that neither of them had packed any gear for extremes. Summer was a good time of year… Unless they went to Texas. The brothers found a hotel away from the main hubbub of the bustling town and got a single room with two beds.

            “It’s great not to have to share a bed anymore,” John quipped while they let themselves into the room. There was a kitchenette off to one side with a small seating area and a square table where they could eat, or spread out what they were working on. They set their duffel bags on each bed, with John choosing the one closer to the door so he was the first one an intruder faced in the middle of the night. “Let’s get a list of people we need to talk to. Start with the families, find who they were friends with, and who wants them dead. Also gotta find out if anyone recently came into something real good for themselves, right?”

            “We only shared a crib, John. We alternated sleeping with Dad and Uncle Sam. And as long as we can check out the Kool-Aid Days before we leave, I’ll be happy as a clam.” Dorian laughed lightly, pulling his laptop out of the bag he’d brought out of the car. “And maybe the history museum. It looked interesting. But our priority is finding the witches. And making sure Dad doesn’t find out we left the Bunker.” Dorian sat down at the table with his computer and opened it up. “Good thing this place has wi-fi, or we’d be in a lot of trouble. Remember what Dad said they had to do when they were our age and there wasn’t internet in a place?”

            “Yeah, but that was ancient history, D. Wi-fi’s everywhere now. I don’t think even the museums have those micro-fishes anymore. They should have digitized it all to keep it safe and make it searchable in the online records.” John snorted derisively of the old methods of finding information. With the advances in technology, it’d been easier for the hunters to complete their work of putting down the monsters that preyed on innocents. John sat across from his brother with his own computer to start another search and ultimately break into the network of the local police department for more crime scene information. “At least the police got with it. I’ll be through the firewall in a minute and into their crime-scene stuff.”

            The interviews went relatively quickly for the pair of young men. Though everyone commented on their youth, a compliment each was gracious enough to accept with their own words about the kindness, John and Dorian made the rounds of victims’ families. Over a few days, they compiled their interviews, and their own inspections of the crime scenes. For themselves, they tried not to interact with the police. Neither of them would pass muster with the practiced eyes of law enforcement, but it was necessary that they get the information straight from the horse’s mouth, and learn the little details that weren’t in the report. Dad had always said police were trained not to put their opinions into the reports, in case there was ever a court case. Especially if they were likely to get mocked for suggesting something “satanic” was going on.

***

            It was three days after the conversation Sam and Dean had about the boys when they returned to the Bunker and found it to be empty with several sets of lights still illuminated. There were no messages from their school, an indication that Dorian had worked his magic with the administrators… The older pair of brothers systematically searched the ancient lair of the Men of Letters. They called for John and Dorian aloud, and using the cellphones that rang to voicemail.

            When they concluded that the bunker was empty, both men regrouped in the library. Each of them had their own version of a panicked look, though Dean’s expression was tinged with an anger that would end with his sons receiving a physical punishment for their disappearance and rebellion against the rules.

            “Dean, calm down.” Sam lifted his hands attempting to cool the fire in the green eyes. “They’re trained. They know how to protect themselves until we find them.” The taller man pursed his lips. The words weren’t making any difference, just like they hadn’t days before when he’d first broached the topic. He knew it was only a matter of time before his nephews went off half-cocked and got themselves into trouble. They hadn’t had as much of the hands-on training he and Dean did, so he wasn’t sure if they could handle a fight with a monster. But at least he knew they knew the basics and were strong together as a team. “We’ll find them, Dean. We just need to think. They’re teenage boys. Teenage hunter boys. We need to start thinking like that. Let’s see what they left around. And call Cas. He might be able to get a line on them in the meantime.”

            “I’m going to kill them!” Dean shouted, his body shaking with the force of his movements. “And if they’re dead when we get there, I’ll raise them up so I can kill them myself!” He stomped around the library while pulling the pearl-handled Colt 1911 from his waistband. He checked the handgun’s magazine to make sure it was full plus the one in the chamber that was always ready to go. “They didn’t call. They didn’t text! They could be dead in a ditch somewhere because they lost control of the damn car!” His check of the garage yielded information about the Charger having been taken. He knew it was John’s car, and the pair was likely together since they were almost inseparable.

            While Dean blustered and ultimately collapsed into a chair to brood and think up the worst scenarios his twisted brain could come up with, Sam looked around the room. If his brother blew off steam before they got to the boys, it would be for the best. The boys spent the most time there in the library with their lore books and the homework he assigned them. “They’ll have left some information, Dean. They’re not as good at covering their tracks as they think they are. We find them every time, you know that.” The taller brother moved methodically. He noted that each table had a pile of books open on it, but one table had recent newspapers dropped haphazardly on top of a few of the older lore books. Sam ignored the grumbling from his brother. Bending down over the newspapers, Sam scanned the headlines that they were each open to.

            _Anything unusual… Something that seems ordinary, but with the right eye…_ Then it leapt out at him. Six newspapers that all had similar headlines. Men found butchered to death as if by an animal. There were single photos of cleaned up crime scenes, but the stubs of candles and broomed clearings in the background were what caught Sam’s attentions. The scenes were similar in each of the six papers he found on the desk. Sam’s blood ran cold. Alone, they looked like single killings that rocked the community in Hastings, Nebraska. But together, they spelled that something unusual was going on. “Dean, I think I got something. They are on a hunting trip. They’ve been gone a few days. But they’re only a few hours away. They probably thought they’d get back before we did. Come look.”

            The elder Winchester surged up from the wooden chair he’d planted himself in. He stood at his brother’s side and looked down at what his brother pointed to in the photos of police milling around a scene. “Witches… Damn it. The boys are out of their league. How do you know they’ve been gone a few days?” He asked automatically, until he noticed the date on the top paper. “God damn it, John… Wheels up in ten, Sam.” He turned, already on his way down to the armory to gather another box of the witch-killing bullets. He noted that John had taken half of the supply, and other things for a stay out in the woods.

            When Sam and Dean met back at the car, they loaded it in silence, putting things into the lockbox in the trunk’s false bottom before filling up the trunk itself. Before they got into the leather seats, an ice-chest went into the backseat where they could easily reach it. They eased out of the garage and headed north to the state line. “Good thing we gave them that card, Dean. I already found their hotel, it won’t take much to get the room number, obviously. It’s the kind of hotel we taught ‘em to stay at. At least hotels never change.”

***

            It was well after midnight before John and Dorian drug themselves back to the hotel room. They’d been dealt a surprising defeat, and suffered for their insolence and ill-preparation. It was only the shifter’s quick thinking to spread the fire at the center of their circle that prevented the situation from getting worse and allowed the young men to escape. Everything seemed normal when John slid the keycard into the slot, a green light flickering as the maglock disengaged and granted them access. “I’m sorry, John,” Dorian whispered. “I thought we had it, but at least we saved that guy, right?”

            “Careful… Careful!” The pale-skinned man chanted while his brother helped him limp inside. “Med pack’s by the bed…” He whimpered while instinctively reaching over to flick on the light switch just inside the doorway. Blood ran down one side of his face over an eye. “But we still screwed it up right, eh?” He muttered as the switch clicked into place illuminating much of the room and the two figures who were not supposed to be there.

            Instantly, the young hunters had their guns out from their waistbands and aimed at the intruders sitting on opposite ends of the room looking as if they both occupied thrones in the no-tell motel. As the guns came from their holsters, the safeties clicked off. Neither teen fired as they took the half-second necessary to identify the two men they didn’t want to come find them. “Dad! Uncle Sam!” Dorian was the first to speak while lowering his weapon in favor of holding his brother closer. “We can explain! It’s not as bad as it looks, we swear!” He shuffled closer to the bed and eased John down onto the sheets with only a minimal amount of groaning from the human.

            Dean sat at the table closest to the door, his pearl handled pistol sitting on the table pointed at it. The weapon was ready for use had anyone, but his children come through. They’d waited in silence for his children to arrive. But the arrival of the boys both having been badly beaten and nearly torn to ribbons almost destroyed the lesson they were trying to teach. At least, it changed how they would go about it. That change was noted by both older men without having to speak. But when neither boy fired off their weapon, only got them ready, both elder Winchesters maintained their seats. They were unafraid of the threat, and each assessed what was needed in the coming moments. As soon as John was settled on the bed, Dean nodded at his brother who shifted instantly into a field medic mindset. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, boys… But first, are you both in single pieces?” He swallowed while Sam moved to replace Dorian at John’s side.

            “Yes, sir.” Dorian answered, standing up straight as if he was a soldier giving a report. “We’re in single pieces, but John took the beating from the witches while I set up our escape.” He cleared his throat, aware that if he was going to be the one giving the initial round of information, he needed to know what Dad already knew, and how best to not get themselves in trouble. The interrogation was about to begin with Dorian being at a natural disadvantage. While Dad and Uncle Sam had never done it, when others had found out about him, they’d mocked him and threatened him. Only once had anyone nearly killed him, and it was the appearance of his Dad that saved the day even though the hunters had to die. “But we couldn’t let them keep killing people, Dad. We had to stop the witches… But all we did was delay them…”

            The Dad listened carefully to his son’s explanation. He wasn’t as angry as he had been hours earlier, and his fear that he’d come to find both boys dead from misadventure was now assuaged. They hadn’t told their worst war stories about dying or nearly dying because they didn’t want to scare the kids too much yet. “Okay. We’ll deal with that later. Right now, we’re just worried about you, okay? You know you’re both in big trouble.” Dean pinned Dorian with a stare, then over to John who now had his shirt off showing many purpling bruises forming and several light cuts on his pale skin. “You both could have been killed, and because you didn’t tell us where we were, we’d have had a hard time finding y’all.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Sam looked up at his brother while he dressed Dorian down first. John would have his time shortly. “This is gonna hurt, John. Your shoulder’s dislocated. Everything else looks like bruising. You’ll be sore for a couple weeks.” Rising from the bed, he indicated the young man should do the same. Gently, he placed one hand on the front of the distended shoulder as a stop. The kids hadn’t taken injuries like this before, so it was going to be a tremendous shock to the system when the shoulder was snapped back to where it should be. “Lean down so you don’t fall.” He pushed John forward over the bed while the other hand went to the back of the shoulder blade. “On three,” he assured his trembling nephew. “One.”

            The tallest man pushed his hands in opposite directions, snapping the bone back into place while John jolted and cried out at being startled from the pain he felt at the bone being put back in place. “You said three, jackass!” He shouted in anger at feeling betrayed while pulling away from his uncle, only to fall back onto the bed. He glared up at the amused eyes of his uncle who had clearly planned what happened. Then the green eyes flicked to his Dad who issued a warning look about the language. “I’m sorry, Uncle Sam.” He murmured, clenching his eyes tightly.  “It hurt.” He stood needing to go to Dorian’s side, smiling triumphantly as if they hadn’t just lost a deadly game. “Now that you’re here, we can take out those witches, right?”

            Sam turned away from his first patient briefly. From the large duffle bag on the bed, he withdrew a small bottle of bourbon. “Drink this, John. It’ll numb the pain a little.” He knew it wasn’t the best way to handle things with the boys, but it was the easiest in their lives as hunters. “Dorian, front and center.” He pushed one nephew toward the hot seat in front of his father, while waiting for the other youth to present himself for inspection. “Where are your injuries? Don’t play that you don’t have any. Show me where they were.”

            John took a long swig from the bottle and shuddered at the taste of the amber liquid. The youth coughed lightly, they didn’t get to drink alcohol that often, so it was a nice change, and probably better than the pills that might have done the same thing. After another drink of the same size, with the same results, John passed the bottle over to his dark-skinned brother. He figured they’d both get to have the booze this time. He went to stand before his Daddy, swallowing nervously because it was already obvious that he was the one that got the pair of young hunters out to where they were. The brunette stood at attention in front of Dean, his hands pressed palm-down against his thighs. “Yes, sir.”

            Dorian took the bottle of bourbon from his brother and lifted it to his lips while making his way back to Sam. “I’m not injured, Uncle Sam. I already said John took the beating.” He recoiled when Sam held his hand out to take the bottle that was obviously meant for the two hunters would they have been injured. “Okay, maybe I took a few hits, but my body wasn’t… I didn’t get hurt. I mean, they healed up already.” He drank again from the bottle before handing it back. “My cuts too. Especially where the one got me with the knife. That was healed up when I changed.”

            He gingerly handed back the alcohol while grabbing the bottom hem of his t-shirt, lifting it up to show the smooth brown skin where a knife had punctured. There was a scar, which was more unusual than anything. Mostly nothing remained after the transformation. Seeing the scar caused Dorian to gasp in shock and turn to the mirror between the two beds. “John! Look what that bitch did to me! Her knife left a damn mark!” His voice filled the room, the shifter obviously terrified by what he’d experienced at the hands of the witches they were there to stop. But he hadn’t wanted to admit to the pain of the stab wound while his human brother looked like hamburger. He hadn’t realized he’d made quite so much noise until a large pair of hands clamped down over his mouth and he was pulled hard against the chest of his much larger uncle.

            “Sssssh!” Sam hissed, physically turning both to Dean who had blanched at the words.

            “Shit.” Dean muttered darkly, forgetting about his oldest son in favor of coming over to inspect the scar. “Silver blade, Sam? What else could hurt a shifter like this? Leave a mark after transformations?” Stepping back, he stared hard into his son’s blue eyes, looking for the truth of what was going on. This was now becoming a personal case for him. No one messed with his family for any reason and walked away without a hurt. And witches needed to be put down anyway. The older man ground his teeth and put his hands around the knife wound on his son’s torso. “We have rules in place for a reason, boys.”

            Sam leaned down to inspect the scar that remained behind. He winced, knowing that Dean very much wanted to knock the hell out of his children, but it wasn’t going to help him at all. It might just make the boys hesitate more in case they were ever in that situation again. “Yeah, looks like a silver blade. But how deep did it go in? Dorian, start talking.” The imperious order left no room for reproach, an indication of just how serious it all was. There would be repercussions later. Both boys would go through more rigorous training than before in how to fight for their lives and protect each other. “This isn’t a game anymore.”

            When the hand fell away from his mouth, Dorian looked at his brother for help, but John shook his head. The pale teen stepped closer, taking his turn to tell the story. “It’s my fault, Dad. I found the case and told Dorian we could do it. You and Uncle Sam were in Tennessee. We were supposed to be back before you got back. I figured out it was witches, D figured out it was New Moon magic. We did the interviews like you taught us, like we’re reporters for a paranormal journal.” It was the easiest story for them to come up with, and most of the people bought it anyhow. John looked down, a sense of guilt coming over him for what had happened with the confrontation. “The leader of the coven stabbed him while I was trying to rescue the guy they were gonna skewer. He got away. Hopefully he doesn’t remember what happened. The other witches ganged up on me while Dorian got off into the woods so he could change. He came back as a big black hellhound and scared them away. Then he changed back, and we came here and found you. I’m sorry, Dad.” While John gave his explanation of events, he moved to his brother’s side, as if being near the shifter would give him more believability and bolster his story. “I’m sorry, Uncle Sam. We should have called before we left home.”

            “You’re damn right, you should have,” Dean started, crossing his arms over his chest while he stared at his sons.

            “Dean—”

            The patriarch railroaded straight through the protest as if it hadn’t happened. “You shouldn’t have even left the Bunker. You should have called _me_ with the information and let _me_ decide how best to deal with it. You’re too young to be going off half-cocked thinkin you somethin about something, when you just don’t. You two could have gotten yourselves more hurt, or killed, and we’d have had no way of knowing where you went off to, or why.” He’d turned into the stern disciplinarian their father was, though he rarely resorted to using physical means of punishment. Mostly he yelled at them.

            Sam watched his brother carefully, he could see the fear mixed with anger in the expressive green eyes and knew how close it was to bubbling over. It suddenly dawned on him that this was how their Dad often felt when Sam, specifically, would go off and do things without permission. They’d both feared the worst when they returned home to find both boys gone, and only a stack of newspapers they could use to figure out what was going on if they’d bothered to pay attention. Sam shifted his weight, preparing himself to step in if it became necessary. This was about to be a dangerous situation, though he was certain Dean wouldn’t carry it too far. But he moved closer, eyeing the shorter man and how his muscles bunched.

            “But Dad, people were dying,” John lurched forward while lifting a hand up to protest what the man was saying.

            John suddenly stumbled to the side when a heavy hand came crashing down against his cheek. Before the teen could move too far, Dean grabbed the front of his shirt with the other hand and struck his son again across the face before giving him a hefty shove. John fell to the bed this time, curling in on himself to prevent injury to his vital organs being attacked. A strong grip came to the back of the human’s neck, gripping it like he would have a puppy.

            “Dad, stop!” Dorian pleaded, while watching the tears welling up in his brother’s eyes.

            “Dean!”

            Dean lifted his errant son from the bed, his free hand balled tightly into a fist, though it remained at his side trembling with the mental effort it was taking not to lash out again. “Don’t you ever. Ever! Leave home without telling us where you’re going! This isn’t a game, boys. This is reality.” He was aware that his brother had assumed a ready stance and inched closer. “Do I make myself clear? Is there any part of this that escapes your understanding?” Dean released John from his grip and the teen scrambled away to be beside his brother.

            “No, sir!” They called in chorus.

            When Sam relaxed, feeling that the danger had passed, Dean relaxed as well. He cleared his throat and went over to the information that had been gathered. He and Sam had been going over it since they’d arrived and were figuring out what they could do about it. Identities had been laid out. The boys knew well how to handle themselves, even if they lacked the finesse and much of the experience to really get the job done.

            “Ya’ll’ve done the heavy lifting for us. All that’s left is to kill those witches, right? Let’s get to work.”


End file.
